how can I speak of him?--he seemed to be more beautiful than any other child--he had ways--he had looks--Primrose, I can't go on, you must ask Hannah to tell you what my boy was like. I had him for five years, then I lost him; he did not die--he was stolen from me. Can you wonder now that your mother sometimes looks sad, and that even you and Jasmine and Daisy fail now and then to make me smile?

"My bonny boy was stolen. I never saw him dead; I never could go to his grave to put flowers there--twenty years ago now he was taken from me, and I have had neither trace nor tidings of him.

"Hannah will tell you particulars, Primrose, for I cannot. My trouble far surpa.s.sed the bitterness of death. Only for you three, I could not have lived--

"Your mother, "Constance Mainwaring."

Primrose had scarcely finished reading this letter, and had by no means taken in the full meaning of its contents, when light, soft footsteps paused outside the room, and she heard the handle of the door being very softly turned.

Cramming the letter into her pocket, and shutting the lid of the little cabinet, she ran and unlocked the door. Jasmine was standing without.

"I looked for you everywhere, Primrose, and I did not mean really to disturb you here; I thought you might be here, and I tried the handle very softly, meaning to steal away again. Are you very busy, Primrose?"

"I can come with you if you want me for anything, Jasmine," answered Primrose, putting her hand to her head in a dazed sort of way.

Jasmine's brow cleared, and her face grew bright instantly.

"It's rather exciting," she said; "I'm so glad you can come. It is about Poppy Jenkins--Poppy is downstairs--she is going away--she has come to say good-bye. Do you know, Primrose, that she is actually going to London?"

Jasmine looked so delighted and eager that Primrose could not help smiling, and taking her sister's hand, they ran downstairs together.

Poppy, who had very black eyes, cheeks with a brilliant color, and hair like a raven's wing, was standing in the drawing-room twisting her ap.r.o.n strings and chatting volubly to Daisy. She had known the girls all her life, and not only loved them dearly, but respected them much. To Poppy Jenkins there never were three such beautiful and altogether charming young ladies as the Misses Mainwaring.

When Primrose appeared she dropped her a curtsey--perhaps she respected Primrose the most, and loved her the least.

"It's to say good-bye, miss," she began, "I called in, hoping for last words with you three dear young ladies. I is summoned to London, Miss Primrose."

Nothing could exceed the air of modest pride with which Poppy made this declaration; she quite expected Primrose to be both startled and dazzled, and said afterwards that it was rather like a little stream of cold water trickling down her back when Miss Mainwaring replied quietly--

"London is a long way off, Poppy--why are you going there?"

"I has an aunt in the boarding-house way, Miss Primrose--she keeps a very select establishment; and most particular; don't admit no gentlemen. It's for ladies only, aunt's boarding-house is, miss, and she wrote to mother that it's a flourishing concern, and she wants a girl who will be honest, and handy, and country-bred, to help wait on the ladies. She has offered the situation to me, miss, as in duty bound, I being her own niece, and mother is pleased to accept. I calls it a dazzling prospect, Miss Primrose."

"I am delighted," began Primrose; but Jasmine interrupted her.

"Dazzling," she repeated, "of course it is dazzling, Poppy. I am so very glad you are going. I only wish I were going. If there is a wonderful, delightful, charming place, it is London. I have read about it, and I have dreamed about it, and I have pictured it. What fun you will have! Of course your aunt will take you to see all the sights.

Oh, do sit down. Primrose, we ought to tell her about the places she should see, ought we not?"

Primrose nodded, and Poppy dropped on to the edge of the nearest chair, and, clasping her red and hard-worked hands in front of her, prepared herself to listen.

"First of all, Poppy," began Jasmine, after waiting for her sister to speak; but Primrose was strangely silent.

"First of all, Poppy, you must go to the places which improve your mind; now, I do hope you are not going to be giddy, running just after pretty things; but I suppose your aunt, who is so wise, and who keeps the boarding-house, will see to that. Well, first of all you had better go to Westminster Abbey. Oh, Poppy! I have read such glorious descriptions of it--the lights from the painted windows--the wonderfully ancient look of the old pillars, and then the music; it peals down the aisles and echoes through the fretted roofs; you will be greatly overpowered at Westminster Abbey, Poppy; but you must remember that you are a very privileged person, and be thankful for being permitted to see with your own eyes such a lovely, lovely, glorious place!"

"It do sound, from your description, very awe-inspiring, Miss Jasmine," answered Poppy. "Is there no other place where one might get more, so to speak, into the festive mood, miss?"

"Oh yes, you silly Poppy, lots and lots; but we'll come to those presently. You'll have to see the Houses of Parliament, where our laws are made--if you don't feel grave there, you ought. Then you must visit the Tower, where people's heads were cut off--it's very solemn indeed at the Tower; and, of course, you will pay a visit to the Zoo, and you can see the lions fed, and you can look at the monkey-house."

"I likes monkeys," said Poppy, whose face had been growing graver and graver while Jasmine was talking; "and if you'll throw in a little bit of gazing into shop windows, Miss Jasmine, and learning the newest cuts of a bonnet, and the most genteel fit of a mantle, why, then, I'll do even that dreadful Tower, as in duty bound. My mother calls London a vast sea and a world of temptation, and nothing but vanity from end to end; but when I thinks of the beautiful ladies in aunt's boarding-house, and of the shop windows I feels that it is dazzling."

"I wish that I were going," repeated Jasmine, whose cheeks were flushed, and her starry eyes brighter than usual; "I wish I were going. Oh, Primrose, think of you, and Daisy, and me saying our prayers in the Abbey!"

"We must not think of it," said Primrose; "G.o.d hears our prayers wherever we say them, Jasmine, darling."

"Yes," answered Jasmine; "and I am not going to complain. Well, Poppy, you are a very lucky girl, and I hope you'll be as good as gold, and as happy as the day is long."

"And if ever you does come to London, Miss Jasmine," said Poppy, rising to her feet, "you'll remember aunt's boarding-house, for ladies only; and proud I'll be to wait on you, miss."

"But we can't come, Poppy dear--we are very poor now--we have only got thirty pounds a year to live on."

To Poppy, who had never been known in her life to possess thirty pence, this sum sounded by no means modest.

"Might I make bold to inquire, miss," she asked, "if the thirty pounds is once for all, or if it's a yearly recurrence?"

"Oh, it's an income, Poppy--how stupid you are!"

"Then I'll consult my aunt in town, miss, and try to find out if you three dear young ladies couldn't contrive a London visit out of part of the savings."

After this sapient speech Poppy bade the Mainwarings good-bye. They looked after her retreating form down the street with many regrets, for they were very fond of her, and Jasmine at least envied her.

CHAPTER X.

WAYS OF EARNING A LIVING.

That night, after her sisters were in bed, Primrose again sat up late--once again she read her mother's letter; then burying her face in her hands, she sat for a long, long time lost in thought.

Jasmine and Daisy, all unconcerned and unconscious, slept overhead, but Hannah was anxious about her young mistress, and stepped into the drawing-room, and said in her kind voice--

"Hadn't you better be getting your beauty sleep, missie?"

"Oh, Hannah! I am so anxious," said Primrose.

"Now, deary, whatever for?" asked the old servant.

Primrose hesitated. She wanted to talk to Hannah about her mother's letter; she half took it out of her pocket, then she restrained herself.

"Another time," she whispered to herself. Aloud she said--

"Hannah, Mrs. Ellsworthy and Miss Martineau hinted to me what Mr.

Danesfield said plainly to-day--we three girls have not got money enough to live on."

"Eh, dear!" answered Hannah, dropping on to the nearest chair, "and are you putting yourself out about that, my pretty? Why, tisn't likely that you three young ladies could support yourselves. Don't you fret about that, Miss Primrose; why, you'll get quite old with fretting, and lose all your nice looks. You go to bed, my darling--there's a Providence over us, and he'll find ways and means to help you."

Primrose rose to her feet, some tears came to her eyes, and taking Hannah's hard old hand, she stooped and kissed her.

"I won't fret, Hannah," she said, "and I'll go to bed instantly. Thank you for reminding me about G.o.d." Then she lit her bedroom candle and went very gently up the stairs to her bedroom, but as she laid her head on the pillow she said to herself--"Even Hannah sees that we can't live on our income."